Quiet Voice of Wisdom

The season of Lent begins today with Ash Wednesday. Words like surrender, sabbath, and begin again greet me with the journey. Step by step I inquire where I'm going. Today happens to be a day with a bit more spaciousness surrounding me. While I have lots to do, I don't have any "official" meetings scheduled so I am able to slow down and listen more deeply. For some reason a great scene from the book Eat, Pray, Love keeps coming to my mind. (btw - the scene is in the movie, but doesn't do the book justice) In the passage, Elizabeth Gilbert has her first intentional meeting with God. As she waits for wisdom in a time of crisis, she hears the simple words, "Go back to bed, Liz." This scene is so profound for me, because that is how I often experience the still small voice of wisdom.

Today's quiet has offered direction moment by moment: read this, write that, shower now, rest, fix dinner, sit, rest, and so on. When asked a question offered by Abbey of the Arts, these words arose:

What is the grace I am seeking this Holy season?

Surrender to the voices of Sabbath.
Let the timelessness was over you.
Trust. Laugh. Love more.
Rest and restore.

What is your still small voice inviting today? What grace are you seeking this season?

Drafty Window - Part 2

"Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me." - Luke 8:46

In my last post, I wrote about my drafty window and today the conversation continues. As I ponder the warm air seeping out my window, I'm reminded of Jesus' story when he felt his power leave him as the woman in need of healing touched his garment. He said, "Someone has touched me." Is this how I feel as I'm aware of others' pain? Does compassionate power flow out to meet others' needs? Do I offer it willingly or is it sucked out unknowingly? Is warm air drawn out with the draft or does cold air come pouring through the window? How does another's hurt blow through the crack in my heart?

Compassionate hearts are at risk of being drained of their own life. Sacrificial giving can end in death. So, today I ponder the balance between offering myself in service of others and protecting my warmth and health enough to have something left to give. It's like the leaky window. Do I want to plug the cracks so the cold can't get in? If I do, does this mean my warmth will no longer flow out?

Drafty Window

"Other people's pain is the wind on our house(s)." -- Betsy Pearson

The favorite room in my home is my studio and office. It is painted a brilliant color that brightens my day every time I see it. The walls are adorned with art and artifacts I've intentionally collected and each piece holds significant meaning. My studio is a place I can get messy, play and also work very hard. It's a place of comfort and rest, so it's ironic that it also encompasses one of my least favorite things - a drafty window.

Pondering this window with a friend, it came to represent a powerful metaphor in my life. The window has its special qualities which make it hard to replace. It folds gently in the middle thus allowing fresh air to pour in during the warm months while also buffering the wind which can be too chilly in this Northwest climate. There is a certain amount of protection and control from the climate. In the winter, however, the North wind blows stridently and seeps through the broken seals. Even as I wrap myself in cozy quilts, the air is chilled and impacts my warm heart. It's like the whole world is coming in through the cracks and there isn't enough heat to warm us all. It is the blessing and curse of having a heart broken wide open. There is a crack in everything that's how the pain gets in. Sometimes there is enough warmth and compassion. Other times the draft chills me to the bone.

• Step outside and feel the air on your skin
• Imagine each breath of air contains someone's pain and another's joy
• Breathe deeply and experience the connection with the whole world
• With your out-breath, send a warm blanket of love, joy and compassion into the Universe

More Anne Lamott...

"Asking for something is risky: I might be refused. But if I don't even ask, I'll never hear "yes." - Karen Casey

If you're one of the three people I know who hasn't heard me talk about my meeting with Anne Lamott, then this post is for you. My wild story began with placing Lamott's image on a vision board - here - which was followed up by an experience of actually meeting her in person - here.

This post is about the power of setting an intention and asking for what we really want. Last week I submitted my article to Spiritual Directors International re: the time with Anne Lamott. When I heard back from the editor, she said she loved the piece and would like to use it in their May publication. May seemed like such a long way off and my essential self said, "I want more... now"!! So... I asked. Long story short - they printed the article yesterday on their blogsite and will run it again in their May publication. I am thrilled and so proud of myself for having the courage to ask for what I desired. Remember - if you don't ask, you can't receive YES!!

Where does your heart long for more? Is it possible all you need to do is ask?

I hope you'll click on over to the SDI site and read my post there. Please say, YES.

comfy couch by lucy

Clear Your Windshield

Under ideal circumstances, my morning meditation leads to setting an intention for the day. A few days ago the words "clean and clear" popped into my mind. As I pondered their meaning, I recalled the previous morning when I arrived at my car only to find a hard frost covering the windshield. Being in a hurry to get to yoga, I was frustrated and didn't have time to properly scrape the windows. (Rushing and frustrated to yoga?!?!? I know. I know...) Using my Seattle Art Museum membership card as a not-very-effective tool, I managed to clear just enough space to peek out the windshield. It was still dark outside and the space was narrow, so I was on high alert as my body crouched tightly the entire way to class. Anxiety was my companion, because I didn't know when a bike, car or pedestrian might cross my dimly lit path. It was quite uncomfortable yet I pressed on because I was in a rush. I managed to arrive at my destination without incident, but the way certainly wasn't very "clean and clear."

Isn't this just like life? When we're not clean and clear with ourselves (i.e. when we ignore our feelings or circumstances), we jump or startle when something comes out of the dark and/or live life curled up inside ourselves. How much better would it be to have a clear windshield and less obstructed vision? Doesn't clean and clear sound more satisfying than crouched and constricted? The obstacles don't necessarily go away, but with clean space we have increased opportunity to see clearly.

Where does your windshield need a little more clearing? Want some help getting clean with your personal intentions? I'd love to lend a hand (or an ear). Check this out...